


Stars

by imachar



Series: 30 ficlets series [17]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imachar/pseuds/imachar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the week before he hands over the Enterprise, Pike has a gift for Kirk</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, as usual
> 
> If you recognize it, it's not mine.

The box is heavy on Jim’s lap and, as he brushes the lid of it with his fingertips, feeling the smooth grain of ancient mahogany against his skin, he recognizes, almost immediately that this, whatever it is, is old. 

It’s an odd shape, almost a 1/6th segment of a circle, but with the narrow end cut off about a third of the way from the center. A full third of a meter deep, there are two fine brass hooks on one side to hold the lid in place and a set of beautifully made brass hinges on the other. But it’s the inlaid brass anchor on the lid that gives Jim the real hint as to what the box contains. 

“Open it.” The voice is low and graveled with fatigue, it’s been another long day for both of them and as Jim looks up and meets Pike’s gaze he has to steel himself to not show any sympathy for the pain and exhaustion that is written in the face of the man who has aged so fast in the last three months. Pike doesn't take pity well; that had been one of Jim’s first lessons once they’d started working together to prepare Starfleet’s newest captain for the herculean task of taking command of the flagship. 

Their first few explosive arguments had been over Jim’s almost obsessive need to make sure that Pike was okay, sympathizing with his pain and stress until Pike had let him know, in crystal clear terms, that his injuries and his PTSD meant that he was always in pain, he was always stressed, he was always just a hairsbreadth from overt panic and there was nothing Jim could do to make it better. Once Jim had come to terms with that painful reality, and once he’d realized that the occasional outbursts of bitterness and rage weren’t directed at him but rather at Command, they’d settled back into the comfortable, occasionally volatile, relationship they’d enjoyed while Jim had been a cadet.

“Go on.” Pike gestures with the hand that is holding a scotch glass. Jim can see the barest finger of liquid in the bottom, and he grins, impudence never all that far from the surface. “Boyce know about the whisky?”

Pike doesn't deign to respond and just gestures again. “Open the fucking box.”

The brass hooks move easily under Jim’s thumb, sliding free of the inset loops and coming to rest against the wood and then he lifts the lid and his breath catches at the contents. The sextant is lying in a bed of dark green baize, the brass of the telescope and graduated arc bright against the fabric, the mirrors and filters all intact, the patina of the frame worn in all the right places. He looks up speechless for once, and the wry, slightly wistful smile that he gets from Pike sends a little shaft of pain through him. For centuries possession of a sextant was the mark and prerogative of a vessel’s captain, now that the technology and even the context is obsolete, knowledge of the instrument has faded into near obscurity but Jim understands as he runs his finger down the cool metal, that the symbolism of this object is both powerful and deeply personal. 

“It’s original?”

“Read the maker’s name on the frame.”

It’s right there on the back of the index mirror in beautiful early 20th century script.

_Henry Barrow and Co. 26 Oxendon Street, London – Royal Navy 1917_

Jim loves old things, he suspects it’s a hold over from George, the father he never knew, but who had left a barn full of ancient farm equipment and partly restored furniture back in Iowa when he’d left for the stars. As a boy Jim had spent countless hours tinkering with the antiques that George had left behind, but nothing in that barn had evoked the life that George had chosen, and that had taken him from his son, in the way that this beautiful instrument could. 

Another quick glance at Pike, who is still watching him intently and Jim is about to ask if he can borrow it for a while, just to get the feel of it, maybe learn how to take a sun-sight, and then his eye falls on the inside of the lid. 

There are two brass plaques attached to the wood with tiny, fine brass screws. The engraving on smaller one is fresh and new, _Property of Captain James Tiberius Kirk_ while the larger has clearly been in place for a while. _Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them._

He can’t quite believe the first, so he deflects by focusing on the second. “Marcus Aurelius.”

“Just so.” Pike fiddles with the scotch glass and smiles, a tight, slightly sad twist of his mouth. “My father always thought that particular aphorism suited me. I think it maybe suits you too.”

“This came from your Dad?”

Pike nods, “When I made Captain.” He lays the glass aside and steeples his index fingers, resting the tips against his chin. “I’m not a captain anymore, Jim. It needs a new home.”

Jim has to make a fist, tight and painful, to distract himself from the sudden rush of emotion as he begins to grasp all the layers of meaning that are wrapped up in this gift. For a moment his throat is tight, and he can’t quite untangle the emotions; unsure whether he’s more moved by the acknowledgement of his captaincy and the implicit blessing of his command of the Enterprise, or by the much more overt overtones of a mentor/student relationship that has shifted irrevocably to something much more familial. 

“I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will, and Jim.” Pike pauses as a voice from the living room calls them in to dinner, and then goes on with a smile. “First leave you get dirtside, I’ll take you out and teach you to sight.” 

_fin_


End file.
